


Entanglements by Barb G

by Barb G (troutkitty)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-06
Updated: 2006-07-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:58:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troutkitty/pseuds/Barb%20G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John falls down, and gets rescued.  One is worse than the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Entanglements

"Routine" missions took on a whole new meaning on Atlantis. Things beyond mortal ken happened so frequently that John's horizons had just stopped expanding. If he were to contemplate exactly what his horizons were to look like now, they would have formed themselves into some sort of gelatinous blob that simply absorbed everything and sorted it into a dangerous and a not immediately dangerous pile.

He wouldn't say it was a completely infallible system. In fact, it was a pretty crummy one, all things considered. But all things hadn't been considered, so instead of him being back on Atlantis, practicing with Teyla and her sticks as was planned, he was fairly certain that exposure would kill him before dehydration only if the vines around him stopped their slow strangulation.

"Damn."

The word felt good to say, so he said it again. The two loops of plant around his throat tightened, and he thought, perhaps, that the effort he just exerted might have gone to better use trying to free himself, but each time he even thought of the metal knife in his vest, more loops seized him and tightened their hold.

He forced himself to clear his mind of all things minus the fact that Teyla could have warned them that sentient, mind-reading vines had an exceptional sense of self-preservation.

"Major?" he heard, and then the scuttle of small rocks from the edge of the cliff above him. Rodney's voice had a slight hysterical edge to it.

"That's Lieutenant Colonel," John called.

"Right, yes, of course. I suppose that answers the next question as well, then."

"No, I'm not dead, Rodney, but thanks for asking." The plants hadn't tightened, despite the 9mm in Rodney's hand, but John supposed the equivalent tension in the vines would be some sort of yellow alert. "You find any locals who can help?"

"Well, yes and no, Colonel."

"I'm needing specifics here, Rodney."

"All right. Yes, we found locals and yes they can help. But their advice was to 'find someone you like less and offer them unto the vines.'"

"What, are you kidding me?" John called. Self-preservation was one thing, self-awareness another, but the desire to trade up in victims was completely implausible.

"No, Major, I'm not. And since Kavanagh isn't here, we're still looking for door number three." Rodney's voice was flat enough that the reality of the situation became dire.

"Well...uh...look harder then. That's an order."

"Sir, yes, sir."

The sarcasm stung more than the sap.

Teyla came back to the edge of the cliff twice, each time to whisper with more urgency at Rodney, who then relayed a highly censored version of the conversation. Apparently they only had until daybreak to free him before the plant killed them, and Teyla wouldn't allow Rodney to purchase one of the local slaves to become mulch.

Finally, Teyla headed back through the Stargate to bring more help and Rodney settled down for the night.

Prime not Prime only held them for an hour, Calculating Limits for an hour after that. John felt his voice crack from the strain and the lack of water, but every time he relaxed, something else tightened against him. Rodney did his best trying to keep them both awake.

Footsteps came from the camp. Voices raised. Rodney scrambled to his feet, calling the voices to him, and John's horizon blob absorbed the situation a full heartbeat before Rodney. There was no joy in the group of people, no admonishment for how stupid John had been when he had saved Bates, and ended up in the vines himself, and then Rodney's 9mm got off two rounds. The scuffle didn't last long.

"Good evening, Doctor. You've certainly have picked a strange time for an evening walk," Koyla's dry voice came from the edge.

"Oh, well, you know, us Earthlings are kooky, kooky creatures," Rodney said, voice light. It must have taken a lot to be witty in the face of a man who had severely hurt him twice, but Rodney managed a strangled laugh.

Another scuffle, and Rodney's muffled cry, but he didn't scream. "Come now, Doctor. You aren't going to make me cut you again, are you?"

"Why yes, Koyla, I do believe I am, as I have no idea what you want," Rodney snapped. He was more angry than scared.

"Where is Major Sheppard, Doctor? I was told you both went through the Stargate together."

"He's probably asleep right now. We try to time our offworld missions in sync with Atlantian time, but he might be watching a movie."

Another muffled cry, this one less successfully contained, and John's cry from the cliff was masked by another man's scream as he was thrown over the edge.

The vines holding him immediately released and for the first time John felt himself grabbing the vines to keep from falling down himself.

"Would you care for some assistance, Major?" Koyla called.

"That's Lieutenant Colonel," John corrected, tiredly.

"Please forgive me. Would you care for some assistance, Lieutenant Colonel?"

"Well, if you've got a free hand," John said, heaping sarcasm until it ran as thickly as the sap from the crushed vines he held onto. He cut off Rodney's explanation of both the alternate pronunciation of 'lieutenant', and the fact that John should just be called Colonel.

A brown rope was thrown down. John grabbed it, but didn't help them heave him up any more than that.

Kolya didn't look as though he'd changed, much. While his mouth lifted into a smile as Rodney dropped to his knees to help him up, his eyes remained as cold and flat as ever. Rodney himself looked mostly undamaged, except for the way he held his left hand. John tried to grab it, guilt stabbing at him, but Rodney flinched and put the hand behind his back.

"I am very glad you could join us. Now, if you would accompany us back through the Stargate?" Kolya asked, motioning them forward.

"Now just a damn minute. Our people are going to be here any second now, and when they see us gone, they're going to put two and two together!" John snapped.

Kolya nodded, and two of the Genii grabbed Rodney by the arms. He fought, but Kolya knocked Rodney to the ground and put his foot over his outstretched good hand. John stopped. "Okay, okay! Easy now, no one has to get hurt any more than they already have," he said, keeping his voice calm. He tensed, feeling the Genii tighten their grip on him as Kolya approached, but this time the man put his hand down John's shirt and rooted around until he found the dog tags. Rodney was up on his feet in the next moment, and John saw how bent back two of his fingers were, but said nothing. Koyla yanked the dog-tags off his neck and threw them down the cliff.

"They'll find nothing but bones and shreds of cloth come morning," Koyla said. He held out his hand, and another of the Genii put one of their weapons in it. Without looking away from John, Kolya's black eyes showing absolutely no emotion, he pointed it eerily at Rodney. "Now, tell me if they will find Dr. McKay's body beside it."

John put out his hands. "I'd rather they didn't."

"That's not good enough, Colonel. Not good enough by half."

"What do you want, for me to beg?" John raised his voice, and then realized that that was exactly what Kolya had wanted to hear. The last time they'd met John had threatened to kill him if they ever met again, and he couldn't have been found in a more helpless situation. "Fine then, please. Please don't kill McKay. He's done nothing but assist you each time you've asked."

"That is certainly true," Kolya said. "And I trust I'll have the same level of co-operation from the both of you. Now march."

Rodney's face was white, but the line of his mouth was showing that he was about to be very stubborn. John doubted that they could handle whatever fallout occurred, and so grabbed Rodney's arm. Rodney was a lot stronger than he gave credit for, and for a heartbeat, neither of them moved. "You're not just going to take this," Rodney said.

"Weir will find us," John said, under his breath, but the back of his hair bristled from knowing Kolya was enjoying every word.

"They're just going to kill us," Rodney said. "Here, there, it doesn't matter. It's just stupid to go with them so they can cut into us at their leisure."

"Rodney, don't argue with the nice, heavily armed men," John said, loud enough the Genii could hear, and then softer, for the two of them, "Please."

The stubborn look to Rodney's eyes softened then, and without words asked John to promise he wasn't going to be hurt any more. John knew he'd be lying if he did promise, so he lied, and Rodney forced himself to believe it.

"Right. Okay, then. Let's go," Rodney said, and squared his shoulders. John kept his hold on Rodney's arm, and no one forced him to let go.

* * *

The Genii's "we are but humble farmers" façade gave way to their but humble third Reich officer uniforms. John, after a full day of being slowly strangled by the vines followed by a full night of marching, was exhausted. He had very little fight left in him, just to stay on his feet as Genii soldiers threw him into the cell. Rodney was equally as stubborn, and he remained standing as well. The thrill that at least they were being kept together gave John another burst of strength.

The single cot, stone though it was, never felt better when John sprawled across it. His body hurt so much that even relaxing his muscles made them ache. Rodney, however, wouldn't stop pacing.

"He's going to let us stew for a while, Rodney. You should just relax," John said, throwing his arm over his eyes. "Try to rest."

"Rest?" Rodney's voice broke over the word.

John sat up again, biting back his own groan. "Let me see it."

Rodney stopped. His hand was still behind his back, but then he held it out like a wounded puppy. His pinky and ring finger were still crooked, and John took Rodney's hand in his. "Still hurt?" he asked.

"No, John, they're just peachy keen all crumpled like that," Rodney snapped.

"They're out of joint. I can fix it, but it's going to hurt."

"Oh, what else is new?"

"Are you going to be a big baby, or are you going to let me--" John began, but then pulled the fingers out and straightened them before he finished the sentence. Rodney's choking cry never escaped, but his eyes went wide enough that the whites were visible. He brought his good hand up to his mouth and attempted to shove the entire fist in to keep from screaming. "--Just do it," John finished, lamely.

The lasting moment of pain took a very long time to pass. When Rodney moved his hand away, the very visible teeth marks in the white skin were raw and red. "Thank you," he said, simply.

John nodded. "Come, sit with me," he said, sitting back down again. "You should have told them I was down there."

"Yes. I should have rolled over right away. You're absolutely right."

"I'm not asking for your sarcasm right now. Do you think I would have kept silent while they tortured you, Rodney?"

A long moment passed. Rodney still cradled his hand to his chest, face mulish, and then softened again. "No."

"Don't take any more for the team. Promise me."

Rodney nodded, looking somewhat defeated.

"Now, your hand is going to be a point of weakness. Kolya is probably going to try to exploit it. Don't let him. It's better to pretend to break then let him do permanent damage."

Rodney's mulish look returned. "I survived junior high with a pocket pen guard," he said. "I can survive this."

* * *

John fell asleep. When he woke up, Rodney was gone. That he had slept through Rodney's extraction made hot flashes of anger spread across his back. He stood up, hollering for Kolya, for Rodney, for anyone to hear him, but no footsteps came from the upper deck. He began rattling the door, hard enough that the dull ringing echoed through the building. "Kolya. You want me, come down here and face me. Leave Rodney alone! Kolya!"

No response. He shouted until his voice was hoarse, then he rattled the cell until he heard the door open again. "Rodney?" he asked, voice harsh in his throat. "Rodney!"

Rodney followed behind two of the Genii. He still cradled his hand, but as the door opened, John saw that it had been wrapped and bound correctly. He moved just a little bit slower, and when the door opened and Rodney walked back unassisted into the room, his pupils were slightly dilated.

"Rodney? You okay?"

"What?" Rodney asked. "Major?"

"Are you okay? What did they do to you?"

"My hand. They fixed it. As best they could with their limited medical facilities, I have no doubt. They've managed to extract an opium-like substance from a local flower. Highly effective, I might add. They must have a purification system that we could definitely..."

"Did they ask you any questions?" John didn't want to shake Rodney, but he did tighten his hands on Rodney's shoulders. "What did you tell them?"

Rodney stared back down at his hand. "Nothing, Colonel. They didn't ask me any questions."

* * *

Rodney dozed the rest of the night on the bench with John, resting his head on John's shoulder. He even started snoring for a while, and rather than poking Rodney in the ribs to move him, John just let him sleep off the drugged haze. In the morning, they came back for Rodney, but only to tend to his hand and give him more of the fine white powder. John didn't know how long they'd been asleep; the crick in his neck told him longer than he'd like. Without any windows it was impossible to know for sure.

"Where's Kolya?" John asked, and was backhanded for his trouble. The pain didn't surprise him, but Rodney was the one who flinched.

"Dr. McKay," John heard, and he forced himself up into a sitting position.

Rodney was standing and staring at the door. John looked up as well, and saw Kolya himself standing on the other side of the door.

"If you have something to say to Rodney, say it to me," John said, forcing himself to stand.

"Very well. Would you ask the good doctor if his hand is feeling better."

John tried not to let his taken-aback show on his face. "Rodney, how is your hand?" he asked.

"Just fine," Rodney said. "Please thank the nice captor for me."

"Rodney says his hand is just fine, and to thank you," John said.

"Excellent. For your information, Colonel, I am now finished talking to Dr. McKay."

"Well all right, then." John kept standing, but felt ridiculously exposed doing so.

"This was never about your man. I have no interest in harming him--any more than I have to, to make you obey. Do we have an understanding, Colonel?"

"Never about Rodney. You don't want to harm him. Check and check."

"You forgot the part about you obeying. You've cost me a great deal over the year. Personally and professionally. I am not about to forget about that. May I call you John?"

"If it gets your ya-yas out."

Kolya looked at him, with a barely concealed look of puzzlement. "I assure it does get my...ya-yas?...out, John."

A long moment passed. Kolya reached through the bars, and although John could have stepped away, didn't. Kolya's fingers dug into his hair, snapping his head back. Sudden pain tears filled his eyes, too reflexive for his training to manage it, and Kolya held him there for another long moment.

"You will respect me, John. You will fear me, respect me, even learn to need it after a while, I suspect, but you will learn."

Rodney stood up, hesitantly, but John motioned him down. "I'm told I can be taught," he said, and Kolya released him.

"I should hope so. You will be waiting for breakfast on your knees, or you will not be receiving it at all."

"What about me?" Rodney called, but Kolya was in mid-sweep out of the hall, and didn't turn around to dignify that with an answer.

"Great," Rodney muttered, and threw himself back on the bench and crossed his arms.

Rodney, as it turned out, had been fed when they fixed his hand, but a couple hours of later his hands started to shake and his face went pale. He tried to hide it by shoving his hands under his arms, but there was no hiding the trembles his body started giving off. He was the picture of misery huddled on the bench, but didn't say word one to John about it.

The buzzer went off, and the door opened. John glanced to Rodney, already mostly in his hypoglycemic shock, but Rodney shook his head. "Not on my account, please," he said, and it would have come off as much more courageous if his lips hadn't been blue.

"No, never," John said, and actually found himself on his knees. He didn't remember bending them.

The Genii who carried the platter seemed more surprised to see him there than he was to be there. He almost dropped it, though he managed to slide it under the bars without spilling too much of it. "I'll tell the commander," he said, bowing his head once, and left the level.

"Well, that wasn't too hard," John said. He didn't get off his knees right away, and Rodney collapsed beside him. He showed remarkable restraint in allowing John to start eating before snatching away the loaf of whole-wheat bread and collapsing against the bench.

"No," Rodney said with his mouth full. "But I guarantee you it's going to get worse."

And Rodney was right. There should have been no surprise there, but the tiny steps Kolya made him perform to did not make any sense. The second time they were to be fed under Kolya's orders, John wasn't to have a shirt on. He shrugged and stripped it off; the bunkers were too warm anyway, but he balked at removing his pants. The lack of meal didn't bother Rodney right away, but by the next morning again he was sweating and chilled despite the heat.

"1167," John said.

Rodney stared at him. "I can't help it, you know. My brain just uses up too much glucose."

"1167."

"I don't care," Rodney said, and continued to stare remorsefully at the empty tray. "We both know where this is going, and I think I would prefer the cutting."

The buzzer went off again, and John stripped off to his skivvies. "I wouldn't say that," he said. Humiliation didn't hurt, not really. Rodney glanced at him, mostly naked where he stood, and other than the frankness of his stare, didn't look embarrassed.

"Prime," Rodney said, and went back to staring at the empty tray. "Very, very prime."

"You're delusional," John said out of the side of his mouth, because Kolya himself graced them with his presence.

"It's all part and parcel with the low blood sugar."

"I see you've lost what little defiance you have," Kolya said. "I was expecting this step to drag on for a couple days, at least."

Rodney opened his mouth, no doubt to explain his condition, but John shook his hand at him, and Rodney fell silent. "You're the boss, is that what you want to hear?"

"Indeed. Give it here," Kolya ordered, and held out his hand. John placed the black slacks on his outstretched hand and waited. Kolya didn't look John over, didn't leer at his nakedness, but made him stand on the spot for several minutes. The worse part was, if it had been misplaced, or even deliberately placed want, John could have dealt with it. The blankness of Kolya's stare, however, unnerved him in new ways.

"We done here?" John demanded.

"For now. Tomorrow I expect a more...obedient display."

"Hey, Kolya," John called, once the tray had been slid over. "Weir know we're here yet? What are the demands you're giving her? You are giving her demands, aren't you? The longer you take to negotiate, the more she's likely to just come in and blast this bunker to bits. It's only a matter of time."

"Time. Yes," Kolya said. "But none of it concerns you. You'll be told when these things are of consequence to you. Until then, get a good night's sleep."

John tried to, but the temperature in the bunker dipped alarmingly as the night went on. Rodney must have felt him shiver, because he put his arms around him and his solid warmth kept the chill away.

* * *  
"Nunavut."

John looked at Rodney strangely, although in the pitch dark, the look was wasted. "The Atlantic."

"I'm going to be magnanimous and accept that. Climax."

"Climax? That can't be real."

"It's a small town in Saskatchewan. Look it up."

"I seem to be out of reference material here. Can we temporarily disallow it?"

"No!"

"Okay, new addendum. The town/city/country must be on Earth or an established Pegasus settlement we've both been to, spelled in the acceptable English equivalent *and* have a population of more than five hundred. Landmarks, geographic locations, and significant bodies of water are still good."

"I object!"

"You would. The Atlantic."

"Why is it important that you be naked?" Rodney asked, instead. The game was getting stale, but since it had proven impossible to play Rock, Paper, Scissors in the dark, they were stuck with it.

"It puts me on a psychological disadvantage. Makes me feel less like a man."

Rodney paused. "Is it working?"

"Mostly I just feel cold." He scratched at an itch on his ribs, but Rodney didn't move his hand from the middle of his chest. His back hurt from lying so still on the narrow bench with Rodney, but he didn't dare move in case Rodney got the impression he didn't want him so close. "I suspect the beatings will start tomorrow."

Rodney's hand tightened. "I think Kolya's established that you are not going to be hurt," John said, entwining his fingers in Rodney's. "Not yet, at least."

"And what makes you say that?" Rodney said, voice bitter again.

"You didn't cave on the cliff. You've caved each time before, but you didn't, on the cliff. You should have, you big dope, but you didn't."

"Dope? What are you, twelve?" More bitterness, but Rodney didn't pull his hand away. John twisted so that instead of them lying both on their backs, he was on his side, and threw his leg over Rodney's. The material of the slacks against him itched, but he felt the warmth of Rodney's skin beneath them.

"This isn't business as usual," he said. "Weir won't give up anything she wouldn't trade fairly for, even if it's our lives he's threatening. This isn't business at all."

Rodney pulled his head down to his chest, and John didn't fight the guidance. "Fine then. Calgary. You have heard of that, haven't you?"

"Yellowstone National Park."

* * *

The beatings did, in fact, start the next day. John glanced up at his shackled hands and tried flexing his fingers, just to restore some of the circulation. They felt cold to him, cold and bloodless, and he wished he didn't know exactly how long blood circulation could be cut off before the damage was permanent.

"You know, I can't help but think I've done something that's offended you," John called. Kolya didn't look up from the paperwork he appeared to be engrossed in, but if he actually believed John believed he wasn't the center of the man's attention, John would have felt insulted.

"Offended?" Kolya stood up. "You might say that."

"So, if I apologized, how about you being a sport and letting us just go, no harm, no foul?"

"I see. Is there a tradition among your people to apologize for killing a man's only son?"

It wasn't business at all. John tried reading Kolya's face, but he might as well have been reading from a prepared speech. His voice was light, almost inquisitive, but his eyes and face were completely dead.

"No glibness? No passing shots? Come now, Major, that is a disappointment."

"I'm sorry," John said. "Truly, very sorry. But I've done nothing but protect my people. You'd have done the same."

"Your words are absolutely correct," Kolya said, pulling on a pair of rawhide gloves that chinked suspiciously like metal when they moved. "And yet still I find myself unmoved by them."

At least the beating started soon enough that it meant he might still have use of his hands when it finished.

* * *

John didn't actually feel any pain immediately when they dumped him back into the cell, at least, not until he saw Rodney's face and the horror it contained.

"I've gotten worse crashing my bike," he tried to say, but his jaw didn't entirely work the way he remembered. Neither did his lungs, and when he took a deep breath, he found things shifting in his belly in a new and all together strange sort of way.

"Bastards," Rodney said. He took off his shirt and dipped it into the water flask they'd been given, and began wiping down his face. "Why didn't you just tell them what they wanted?"

John tried to smile, and that hurt worse than trying to speak and breathe combined. "They didn't ask me any questions."

"Don't try to talk." Rodney's hands slid down his arms across his chest and down his legs, but John doubted he would find any permanent damage done.

"Then stop asking me questions."

"I'll stop asking you questions when you stop trying to talk."

"That doesn't make any sense at all."

Rodney's sharp retort John knew was coming must have died when he looked back to John's face, and he figured he must have been worse off than he thought. He'd like to think he didn't pass out, then but rather just close his eyes for a moment or two to regain his strength, but Rodney obviously misread the situation and actually hit him again to wake him up.

"You're not helping!" John snapped.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. Just...just stay with me, John. Don't close your eyes. Just stay with me."

"I'm not going anywhere," John said, and then winced for the first time. "Ow."

* * *

Day two was cutting. John had always hated the feeling of cold metal slicing into his skin. He hated it more than the actual pain or the bleeding or the way the blood on his skin made him colder once it lost the body heat trapped in it. Rodney looked positively green when they brought him back, and his shirt was absolutely ruined trying to clean up all the tiny cuts. He doubted even the worst of the cuts would leave a scar, but it still left him light-headed with a metallic taste in the back of his throat for most of the night.

Day three was shocks. He didn't remember much of that at all but the smell of his hair burning and the wave upon wave of pain, Kolya's cold face smiled as he applied the wands on different parts of his body, and Rodney's pleadings that they take him the next day instead.

Day four, wet. And cold. Rodney stripped off his own clothes after that and lay over him naked, but despite the burning heat from Rodney's skin he never did warm up.

Day five, Rodney tried to get between Kolya and John. "You're killing him."

"I do believe that is the general idea, yes," Kolya said. He was wearing some sort of body armor today, which protected all but his neck and face.

"You don't understand the situation, Kolya. You think we're alone? You think we don't have allies? Earth's found a way. We have ships the size of this bunker and in the past three months we've destroyed five hive ships. Five, Kolya. You don't want to fuck with that. Let the Colonel go, and I swear to you we won't come back and flatten your pathetic planet to the last bunker."

"You were helping right up to the end there, Rodney," John muttered, but couldn't help his flinch as Kolya came full into the cell.

"Your threats are noted. But rest assured, I am going to let the Colonel go today. If he co-operates, that is. Help him up."

"No."

"Help him up, and this time you can come," Kolya said, his voice soft again. Rodney's shoulders slumped, and he bent down to help John to his feet. Just grasping onto his wrist gave John strength, and together they managed to get him standing.

"Don't hurt him again," Rodney said, but Kolya ignored them.

"This way," Kolya said.

"It'll be all right," John whispered, voice cracking over each word, and Rodney shot him a filthy look of disbelief before helping him take the first step. John's muscles felt liquefied and his breathing was labored by the time they left the bunker, but they walked past shocking room and the cutting room and the beating room without slowing down. Rather than make him hopeful, it just filled him with more dread, especially since the door they did stop at was the same plain metal.

"In here, please."

The room had the same floor with a drain on it, but instead of a bed or shackles attached to the wall, it simply had two chairs and a small table half way between them. The radio on the wall looked old-fashioned, but powerful. Half a dozen Genii, all wearing the same armor, stood by the walls with weapons ready, and a single split-barreled hand gun sat on the table.

It was this John couldn't look away from.

"Please sit. If you are hungry, Dr. McKay, I could have food brought for you. Call it a last meal, if you want."

Rodney wasn't looking away from the weapon as well. "I'm fine," he said, voice weak.

Kolya went to push John, but Rodney was there in the next second, taking the blow and helping John down to the first chair. Despite the sick feeling growing in John's belly, he was grateful to get off his feet. Rodney sat, shirtless and tense, in the other chair, and his fingers tapped nervous S.O.S.s on his knees.

"You might get off a lucky shot, but then both of you will not walk out of this room alive. It would be unfortunate, but an acceptable enough permanent solution to my problem. Or, you can pick up the gun and shoot Rodney, John, and I'll let you go."

"Hold on a second--" John got out, beating out Rodney's, "Just a minute--", and John continued in the next heartbeat of silence. "I am not going to shoot Rodney. You can forget that."

"I'm not saying you'll do it lightly. But you might change your mind after I break every one of his fingers, cut out his tongue, yank his eyeballs from their sockets, and then I'll start really being unpleasant. It's your choice. Are you going to protect your people now, John?"

_Just do it_ Rodney tapped out on his leg.

"I'm not going to do it," John told both of them.

"You're leaving me no choice," Kolya said. His smile, for the first time, had real warmth in it.

_You promised_ Rodney sent, over and over again, trying to crawl back on his chair as Kolya approached.

"I think Dr. Weir needs to hear these screams."

"Wait!" John cried. Kolya stepped back, letting Rodney sit back down again for a heartbeat, and turned to him. "Let me talk to Weir."

"Of course, John, but I suspect you'll have to speak up in a moment."

"John?" Elizabeth's voice cackled in the next moment.

"We're here! We're both here," John shouted. "You've got ten feet in every direction clear!"just as seven of his men materialized in the room. The fighting was over quickly, and John had Kolya under him with the weapon pointed in the soft, unprotected part of his neck in the next moment.

"I told you so," Rodney said, from behind him, but Kolya's eyes didn't leave John's.

"So now what?" Koyla demanded, voice like gravel.

"You can't say I didn't warn you," John said, and pulled the trigger. The gun recoil was more than he thought and he almost dropped it, but with Kolya's brain matter making a streak across the floor as it was, he didn't sense he'd be in any real danger. Rodney was there the next second, pulling him away, and in the next moment, they were in the Daedalus.

The infirmary's beds were no wider than the cell, but again, Rodney somehow fit with him. He came up with a dozen reasons as to why he should be there with John, but Beckett wasn't convinced until John found himself calling for another gun. After that, they let them be.

He wasn't cold any more, which made the heat coming from Rodney almost too warm, but his fingers didn't feel right unless they were between Rodney's.

He'd sort out what that meant in the morning.

For now, he just wanted sleep.

  



	2. Entanglements by Barb G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John falls down, and gets rescued. One is worse than the other.

Rodney started living on John's back. Not literally, of course, there wasn't any room for him, but as time went on John began realizing there were far fewer times that he looked over his shoulder and didn't see Rodney than times when he looked over and did.

The great thing was, they didn't talk about it. They didn't need to talk about it. No talking at all. He'd look up, Rodney would be there, and smiling, or not smiling, depending on the circumstances, but always being there, his solid weight right behind him. It was ridiculous, really, there was nothing John couldn't have dealt with that Rodney would have tipped the scale one way or the other, and yet, when Rodney was there, he felt warm.

The debriefing went about as well as any debriefing could. Elizabeth had come to the infirmary. Rodney was sitting on the bed; he was just back from the labs. He smelled of a long day. Not sweaty, just the sweet salt taste of his skin. John felt strong enough to join him, for once, but Beckett had put down his foot.

The cuts, the burns, the bruises would all fade. John'd seen guys being traded back for other POWs before, and when they got out of the helicopter, it was as though they'd left a part of them behind. Sometimes a considerable part, sometimes all of them. Their eyes never returned to the way they'd been. John never got past the looks that said, "How is this going to hurt me now?"

Those men hadn't had Rodney with them. Rodney's solid warmth--he kept coming back to how warm Rodney had been, even when he wasn't thinking or talking about it. He'd been naked in that cell, naked and exposed, and Rodney hadn't once let him feel bare. And when the pain came (oh god, there had been so much pain) Rodney was again there, asking his stupid questions, floundering when he should have been the strong one, and John pushed the pain (cutting, burning) away. No, he hadn't pushed it away, Rodney was there to shoulder it.

Still, when he closed his eyes, he could still feel Kolya's eyes. If he had enjoyed hurting John, enjoyed bringing his knife across his chest or his metal knuckles deep into John's belly, John would be able to push it off as sadism. That Kolya had as much reason as anyone for hurting John made it worse.

Sixty dead. The number was another debriefing, another figure on a sheet of paper. It had been Kolya's son. His son. John would have done the same to Kolya, and he would have been justified in doing so. Elisabeth would have understood. She would have lost the debriefing statement that stated John had gone to such extremes and it never would have been spoken of again. Kolya's justification hadn't made it easier to take the initial blows, but afterwards...

If he couldn't accept Kolya's reasoning, he couldn't accept his own, each and every time he strapped on his gun. Then Rodney was there, with his heavy hands, his thick wrists, and nothing seemed that bad any more. Rodney would touch his shoulder for a heartbeat, his back for a second, his hip for an instant.

Elizabeth had sat still during the meeting when he'd been well enough to get out of the infirmary, when the worst bruises had faded a gentle yellow and his face looked more like he'd just had dental surgery than an actual beating. It would take a long time for the swelling to fade even after the markings disappeared. When he looked in the mirror, he saw Rodney's square jaw before he saw his own face.

She just listened to him speaking. He was surprised to find he had been talking all that time, rather than remembering what it had been like to look at himself shaving that morning. The words came out dispassionately. Cutting. Bleeding. Just how cold he'd been. Rodney. The gun. Rodney and the gun, and how he'd begged to be shot. John used big words for Elizabeth, like ascertained and conditionally marginalized, but Rodney had tried to crawl out of his chair, and John had promised him he'd never let it go to that.

Elizabeth nodded. There was a formula to his words that let him speak, the diagram of the numbers calculating pi to nth degree with assertions and alleviations of guilt and acceptance allowed him to spin bullshit into fine strands of silk. She nodded through it all. He found himself wondering how she could swallow it. Rodney was there, Rodney who knew his words were meaningless.

Elizabeth accepted it and told him he was ready to go back on active duty.

He supposed that meant he won.

He still felt blank inside. Which meant he walked a lot. Which meant that sometimes Rodney followed him, and sometimes he didn't, and this time he really wanted Rodney to, but he didn't, and that angered John a little that Rodney didn't get it. As he walked past the lab, though, all those blinking lights and the sluggish way Atlantis was opening the doors meant that Rodney was probably too busy. He watched the controlled way Rodney moved around the lab, one part yelling, one part genius, and one part finesse, and left him there.

Despite whatever internal problems the city was having, he got in the transporter and pushed a random button. He ended up at one of the east facing balconies. Rather than watch the sun set, he watched the growing darkness spread across the sky like an ink stain.

"Now you're just being ridiculous," he said to himself.

If Kolya had asked him anything, he would have told him.

The hair on his arms was beginning to stand up.

Whatever problem the city was having ended, and the constant hum in the air, something he hadn't even been aware of, ended, and the regular sound of the ocean resumed as though taken off pause.

It seemed at double speed to make up for it, before he realized it was just a coming storm.

The door opened, releasing a puff of the controlled, filtered air. Rodney was behind him. "When a two percent power drain is not reported, and then that two percent power drain becomes 78% overnight, remind me to check for giant, power-sucking fish leeching onto the bottom of Atlantis."

"There was a giant power-sucking fish attached to Atlantis?"

"No, one of the insulated tubes cracked. But the fish would have made more sense than the theories those idiots had."

The polite thing to do would be to ask if Rodney had it fixed, but the answer was obvious from the way the city responded. Rodney didn't seem to mind the lack of polite question, and so John turned away, back to the coming storm.

He leaned back, arms still resting on the barrier. The stretch felt so good he kept pulling back further than he intended, until he was suddenly in Rodney's personal space, and Rodney didn't move away.

Rodney certainly wouldn't have put his hands on John's hips--Rodney certainly would never curl his fingers around, digging into John's hip bone, and pulling him further into the crook of Rodney's groin.

John heard Rodney's intake of shocked breath as well, because Rodney certainly had done all those things, and more. John was taller and Rodney would have had to stand up on his toes to have lined up so perfectly, and yet, there they were, perfectly positioned.

"Well," John said.

"I...I...I..." Rodney began, but instead of flaying his arms, he pulled John back to him, and feeling Rodney's cock against him. Rodney's hard cock. Rodney against him suddenly broke through the emptiness inside.

John was tearing at his pants. He hadn't been aware of doing it, but seeing as how he'd made it through his belt and his button and had managed most of his zipper, he must have been doing it a while. He was also speaking, but useless words that had a lot of now and of gods and pleases in it. Rodney yanked his own clothes aside, or at least down, and the sound of spitting--something he'd always hated in all the porn he'd ever watched, suddenly was extremely hot.

The rain started, one drop, then another, then the air was thick with it, fresh water slicking his hair down, soaking his hair, and making Rodney's hands burn against his hips.

And Rodney was inside him, pounding him into the barrier. The rain was everywhere, blurring even five feet away, but he felt the lightning electrifying the ocean. And Rodney's hands slipping around his belly, down, and the slick, tightness of his hands against him, over him, and then he felt Rodney shudder.

The smell of semen couldn't last against the downpour. Rodney pulled out, and away, panting, and John remained where he was for a good moment, letting the rain wash him.

He bowed his head. Rodney adjusted his clothes again. John pulled his own clothes up, but didn't move. Rodney's heavy hand rested against the back of his neck. "It's raining," he said. The words should have been gentle, but had to be screamed over the wind.

"Yes."

"Raining hard."

"I am aware of that, Rodney."

"Are you also aware how much I hate the rain, Colonel?"

"So go in."

Rodney hunkered down beside him, squinting his eyes in the downpour. John wanted to tell to quit being so stupid and go inside, but he couldn't do it without shouting and suddenly raising his voice took too much effort.

He went in.

Rodney, to his credit, tried not to look so smug. But it was there, in the little bounce his step took. John felt the burn of it inside him, but Rodney's good mood, despite his teeth chattering, was infectious.

They had a shower together, more water running down his skin. Rodney's new scar was perfectly parallel with the old ones. He wondered if Kolya wanted to notch Rodney like a bed post for every time they tangled.

Instead, Rodney pulled him into the shower, set it hot enough to scald both their skins, and kept it hot as they adjusted. "What happened wasn't your fault," Rodney said, again raising his voice to be heard.

The feeling of the gloves striking him over and over again receded. He only felt Rodney's hands now, and the slickness of the soap on his skin. "It's no one's fault," he said.

Rodney's hands stopped on his hips, and John felt his body shudder. "I didn't say that!" Rodney jerked John towards him when he got upset; he briefly wondered if Rodney was aware of that fact or if he should just keep it his little secret. "Blame Kolya."

"I can't blame him," John said, even as Rodney ran the hot water down over him, too hot, too sensitive. When his eyes were closed, Rodney dropped down to his knees, and water made Rodney's mouth seem cool for once. John's words stopped the mouth, in fact, made the mouth pull back and the hand that replaced it was already shower-wrinkly.

"You can. Why can't you?"

Rodney's hair was too short for him to grab, nor could Rodney look up at him with the water still pounding down. It left him squinting on his knees, and John shielded the water from his forehead so Rodney could look up.

"He had his reasons."

"And you had yours. He started it!"

"I made it personal."

Rodney's mouth twitched, obviously he was going to say more, and then he batted John's hand away.

"And if he had shot you dead, I would have understood it. But he didn't do that, did he?" Rodney demanded. "He took it well beyond personal."

The truth to the words didn't make the ache inside him go away. For a moment John thought Rodney would go off in a huff, leaving John in the shower to his own problems, but at least Rodney took care of one before he went. Rodney's mouth started cold but warmed. The softness of his tongue and throat was in sharp contrast to the firmness of his teeth beneath his gums.

Rodney breathed wetly through his nose, keeping the closed system complete, and what he was doing with his tongue didn't seem entirely possible. John's belly tightened, holding Rodney's head closer to him, but then the tingling sensation passed.

John pushed him away. Rodney gasped, taking a moment to catch his breath, and stood up. "You okay?"

"Okay. Yeah. Great."

Rodney got out of the shower, wrapping one of the earth towels around his waist. John stayed in the shower, head bowed under the spray, and then suddenly the water stopped running.

John looked up. Rodney dangled the control crystal between his fingers. "Not as effective as flushing the toilet, but I can mimic that result as well," he said.

"What do you want?" John asked, following him out into the main room.

"What he did to you, John, what he kept doing to you, day after day--"

"Shut up about that already, Rodney." Anger John thought he'd been able to control built up inside him.

Rodney took his hand, interlocking their fingers. "Don't. Not with me."

And John kissed him, tearing off the towel. Rodney pushed him away, but still held onto his hand. "Never with me."

The bed creaked and they had to lie sideways on it. Adjusting legs and arms took a full moment, and the first time Rodney pushed in again, muffled a curse into the pillow, and it took three or four tries to find any sense of rhythm. With the bed so narrow and Rodney against the wall, it wasn't as good as it seemed, but without words they switched so that Rodney was on top and John could hold onto the bed-frame.

Then they were on the floor. John kneeling on the cold floor that warmed under his knees. Standing up against the wall, back on the bed. Rodney's hands on his slick thighs felt too good despite how sensitive his skin had become.

The bruises across his chest ached more once his breathing returned to normal, but at least the pain felt better than it had in a long time. "We're different, you and I," Rodney said.

The storm had settled. It was now a gentle rain. Atlantis never really got dark at night. Rodney sat up to one elbow.

"You're a brilliant but egotistical scientist, and I shoot people for money," John said.

"Not that way," Rodney said, false modesty never becoming him. "We both shot Ford."

"In the leg."

Rodney was smiling, but it wasn't warm. "Yes, in the leg." He put his hand over John's chest, and his heartbeat echoed on Rodney's palm. He lowered his hand down to John's belly, then lower still. "The difference is, I wasn't aiming so low."

Rodney settled back down again. John took a moment to process. As he shifted down into the bedding, organs still not entirely together moving the way they should. He threw his arm over Rodney's chest and they slept until morning.

He woke up. Rodney was still there. Their hands were entwined again, had been so for a while, he supposed. "I still hurt," he said.

"Hum?" Rodney asked. His hair was wild on the one side, flat on the other.

"I still hurt," John said. "And that sucks."

It was a good a debriefing as any.

"I know. I'm sorry." Rodney said, and put his head back down on John's chest.

"Yeah, me too," John said, and kissed the top of Rodney's head.


End file.
